Of Twisted Reality
by Whimsical Omelettes
Summary: A girl from Sabaody mysteriously turns up at Fishman island. In complete coincidence (perhaps not so), the Whitebeard Pirates decide to visit Fishman Island for a change too. So. What the hell is going to happen when both parties clash? Mermaid and pirates alike?
1. Chapter 1

Fishman Island. Set before the timeskip. Thought you guys should know that, before proceeding onto the story. So some events MAY happen without coinciding with the manga, but who cares? This is fanfiction, and I, as a fellow fanfiction writer, can tweak some of the current events however I wish.

Disclaimer: GOD HOW MANY TIMES MUST I DO THIS OKAY I DO NOT NOT NOT NOT NOT OWN ONE PIECE PLEASE IGNORE THE FACT THAT THERE WILL NOT BE ANY DISCLAIMERS IN LATER CHAPTERS. Sorry about that. Let's get going, shall we?

* * *

Shirahoshi-Himesama, the soon-to-be famous buxom beauty and pearl of the Ryugu Palace AND Fishman Island, is sick.

Sick for Megalo. Sick for being stuck in the Hard-as-hell Shell Tower. And sick of her family ignoring her. Her mother was dead. Her brothers were always out honing their skills just so they can "protect" her as they call it. Her dad was busy with kingdom affairs, both within and out of the country. Megalo was looking more lethargic lately, and his giant, flexible shark body drooped on her pink sheets, his tongue lolling out in a disturbing manner.

Sick sick sick sick. How can Shirahoshi clear the headache now? Ow. She forced the burning sensation behind her eyes to cease. Crying was not a big help.

Her Hard Shell Tower was big enough for her big body to move around freely without feeling claustrophobic, but she wanted freedom. Freedom was like a forbidden fruit she couldn't savor, and that sucked. For Shirahoshi Hime.

She constantly yearned for another playmate, apart from Megalo, who could actually converse with her. Such was her loneliness, that she braced her body up, and reached for the bookshelf beside her bed. There were so many books there, but none really captured her eye, until today. She must so bored, her mind was going awry. Megalo did not react in any way, and when Shirahoshi cast him a glance, she found his round eyes fluttering shut. So much for being a companion.

" 'Adventures of The Adventurous Ryu-chan', written by… Who?" Shirahoshi squinted at the small font, but even her big eyes could not discern the unknown letters. She gave a shrug, and proceeded onto the first page.

Shirahoshi was only ten, just so you readers wanna know.

...

Now what the hell was happening? The lone girl rushed from stall to stall as she darted frantic glances towards her back. Bloodthirsty suckers were chasing her. Run run run, she commanded her protesting legs, feeling the ache growing larger like a knife cutting deeper into her flesh. Don't let them catch you. You can do it. Just keep going. Never stop. Don't look behind you. Don't be scared. Her mop of black hair was flying behind her as she ducked inside every shop of the bustling market district, all chaos erupting as each shout from each hawker and customer began and the volume rose and fell on different cadences. They yelled for bargains, but she was deaf to them all. All she had in her mind was RUN RUN RUN and DON'T EVER LOOK BEHIND flashing like alarm signals.

Bubbles suddenly appeared straight ahead, a big obstacle in her escape course. A whole stream of them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a child, her face flushed with delight and wonder, blowing millions of multicolored bubbles through the small circle in her hands. She didn't want to hurt the child, but the suckers were hot in pursuit, and if she didn't react quick enough...

With a silent apology to the little girl, she charged like a mad bull directly into the growing crowd. She punched, kicked, elbowed, nudged everybody who stood in her way. The girl materialized behind a swath of flower-printed fabric, and for that one moment, she felt like pausing there... just standing there limply, letting her body fall forward and hit the cement ground, her head splitting open and later awakening to the sound of rattling chains and jeering crowds, smelling the rotten eggs in her hair and face, standing on the podium, in a cage. A Celestial Dragon, with his mean eyes and pinched face, sitting in front of her, his hands rubbing together in glee as his slow mind ran over enormous amounts of berries to purchase HER.

These thoughts were making her head crack now. She shoved them away in haste and concentrated on the little girl. Taking in a deep breath, she struck her foot across the girl's arm, sending the latter going backwards and hitting the tree trunk. She could hear the snapping sound of the bark splintering, and a pang of remorse hit her.

But no, nothing can distract her now. Those marines were still at it. She had to escape this ISLAND. Anywhere she hid, they would find her eventually. People who'd housed her in their homes before usually gave in to greed and betrayed her for a few thousand berries.

To hell with that miserly amount. Was she really worth that LOW?!

Lush greenery greeted her as she reached the forest. The trees blocked the sky out, and only single rays of sunlight filtered through the lace-like canopy, creating a small halo. She made her legs work harder, but her lungs were close to exploding. No no, she couldn't fall down now. No, not back to that hell. Not to that auction table. Not to that abusive St. Roswald...!

NO.

Then suddenly, the earth just disappeared below her feet. Literally.

She had just been running and running, when she stepped on NOTHING.

Whoosh. Her black hair fanned out in a big arc, and the wind met her. Her legs were numb but relieved, although the panic kept her body rigid, as she pelted downwards, into the deep blue sea. The oblivion.

She's going to die. She had never eaten a Devil Fruit before, and she's going to die. Die.

Dying was supposed to be peaceful, wasn't it? Then drowning just be peaceful too. She had never waded or submerged in a body of water before. The sea was salty and deep, that was what she knew.

The indeed salty water hit her mouth, and entered her lungs with abrupt speed. She flailed in reflex, despite her acquiescence to death, but only found herself sinking lower under the treacherous depths. When she opened her eyes, the salty sting felt unpleasant, so she closed them again. She closed her mouth, to stop the water from coming in and also the painful death of having fluid in your lungs.

She lived before. Did she have regrets?

She probably did, but she only had an image of the little girl in her mind as her brain shut down...

Sinking. Down to oblivion.

...

The merman, suited in his magnificent armor and equipped with an intimidating bow staff, scanned around the perimeter, searching for signs of a protruding tail, or better, a red Criminal-branded shirt. The blasted shark Megalo had wandered off again. If he didn't find the shark sooner, Shirahoshi Hime's tears and painful cries would cause days, perhaps weeks, of unrest to other members of the royal family. Right now, the Minister of the Right was attempting to soothe the distraught mermaid, but the probability of silencing her woeful cries was very small. And unless Megalo was found today, they would all be FIRED. Do not mock the wrath of the Ministers, that was advice from King Neptune. The merman gulped at the importance of his mission. Prince Fukaboshi, Ryuboshi and Mamboshi were still on duty, and were not expected back at the Ryugu Palace for another two hours, King Neptune was on the surface, negotiating with humans for fishmen rights or whatever, and was due in two hours too.

He toppled over a big rock to see if the gigantic shark was hiding underneath, but only a small crab scuttled out and vanished again into the sand. Fishman Island was so big, how was he going to scout the entire country within a DAY?! Let alone two hours!

"Sha! Sha!" A worried sound traveled into the merman's sharp ears. He looked up in alert, surveying his surroundings and trying to figure out the source of that sound.

There it was again. "Sha! Sha sha!"

The merman swam slowly towards the north direction. Corals, of all sizes and colors, blocked his path. Undaunted, he swam over them from a higher ground, and to his great surprise, discovered a long and dark cave. Big enough to hide a shark, his mind whispered.

His heart beating with excitement, he went inside.

Under the weak light, he saw a very big and very triangular fin poking from amidst the dark shadows. Bingo.

...

Cursing was not in the Minister of the Right's nature, but he did it anyway, to distract himself from the sobs and cries of distress that issued from the thought-to-be soundproof walls of Hard Shell Tower.

He was fond of the Hime, but sometimes that affection stretched between his duty and honor of dedicating himself to protecting the Hime, and his contempt for boisterous noises. He must not hate Shirahoshi Hime. No. That cannot be accepted. King Neptune will have his head if he so much as hint that he dislikes a single aspect of the princess's character. The king loved her that much.

Megalo was missing. That was the key of the problem here.

"What? What happened?" He had asked in concern as his troops pushed open the doors of the Hard Shell Tower. The cries had extended to the main branch of the palace, and all the staff immediately dropped everything in their hands and ran to the Minister, pounding him with endless questions and complaints. They could not do this. They could not do that. All because of the Hime's cries. We need silence. We can't work well with this. You want quality work? Fine, go ask the princess to shut the f*** up.

"Megalo... Megalo..." The Hime hiccuped, rubbing her hands across her eyes, swiping off tear after tear. She drew in a shaky breath, only to collapse into a trembling fit. "Megalo's missing!" She wailed, and the Minister's ears nearly exploded with the force of the Hime's yell.

So he had dispatched the rest of his idle soldiers into various parts of Fishman Island, assigning them to different posts. Megalo was bound to show up.

The staffs were not working yet. He didn't know what King Neptune would say to this.

"Minister! Minister!" A fervent shout jolted him out of his thoughts, and he looked to the sweating merman with unveiled hope.

"Did you find Megalo?"

The merman nodded, but he didn't look happy. The Minister's face slowly fell as he listened to the guard, every word falling like a thousand needles into his head.

...

"Huh? What do you mean there's a human down here? There are pirates loitering around the district, aren't there?" The Minister of the Left said wearily, his monocle glinting under the lamplight in his dim study. Piles and piles of books littered his wide desk, and he worked in a marginal space with dotted with several ink splashes.

"No, minister. A human girl was found by Megalo, who'd went missing this evening." The Minister of the Right explained.

"There are females in Fish-"

"NO! I'M TELLING YOU THAT THIS HUMAN GIRL HAS SCALES ON HER SKIN!" The Minister of the Right, having lost his short supply of patience, gave up on the gentle approach and shouted out in frustration, leaving the other man shocked and spilling his ink bottle over the paperwork.

"Oh well. Then that girl must be half-mermaid, then!" The Minister of the Left said slowly, looking at the other minister levelly. He glanced down at his ink-stained paper, and crumpled it into a black paper ball.

The Minister of the Right blinked, and sighed. "Sorry, minister. I didn't think of that." He apologized, his head bowed. Now he'd lost his temper and his composure in front of a man he respected and admired.

The Minister of the Left shook his head wryly, and asked, "What are you going to do with her, then?" He threw the paper into the garbage bin.

"Perhaps... she has not woken up yet, but I'll put her in the infirmary for the time being, under surveillance. After she awakes, I'll have come up with a decision already."

The Minister of the Left nodded in approval. He went back to his paperwork, and the Minister of the Right took leave quickly, not wanting to displease his superior again.

…

"Megalo! Megalo! You're back! I missed you! Don't ever disappear again! Wah…!" Shirahoshi Hime shed tears, but this time, tears of joy. The poor shark was being squeezed under her shockingly strong grip, and tried desperately to pump oxygen through his big gills, which were under flat under the Hime's arms.

"So, Hime. Can you let me close the door now?" The Minister of the Right asked with a tinge of impatience. He and his troops were standing post outside, witnessing the joyful reunion with nonchalance.

"Yes, yes. Of course, Minister-sama. I'm sorry to have caused trouble." Shirahoshi smiled through her tears. Megalo now resembled a stuffed toy. The Minister of the Right felt as though a heavy boulder had slid off his chest. Now King Neptune won't have to know about this unfortunate incident. Shirahoshi Hime's smile had set a strange mechanism in his mind working, and he couldn't remain angry at her for long.

His fleeting rush of gratitude disappeared when he entered the infirmary. Now what was he to do, with this half-mermaid?

…

The glorious sight of a Jolly Roger fluttered in the breeze, the one notable feature being the boomerang-like beard on the nose of the skull. The crew members, numbers reaching almost a thousand, ran around the deck like harried mice, shouting out orders. It was pandemonium on board. All the commanders were missing; they were actually in Whitebeard's cabin, having a meeting. You'd think pirates were all scallywags who can't even fake a British accent, let alone congregate together to have a formal discussion, but the Whitebeard Pirates were different. They were powerful, almighty, their strength outlasting other pirate crews; so they can damn well do whatever they please. Even if it meant crowding inside the big-but-now-cramped-up space of their captain's living quarters.

"Yeeee…" The 1st division commander, Marco, in his usual purple attire, yawned and stretched his arms high above his porcupine-cropped blond hair. His elbow accidentally dislodged an orange hat, leading to the hat dropping onto the dirty, mud-stained floor, even though this was their headquarters.

"What the f***?!" The 2nd division commander yelled out, immediately directing his iron, er, fire fist to his superior's left cheek. As expected of the other bored division commanders, 2nd division commander instead hit a clump of lukewarm blue flames. For a few confused moments, he stared in shock at his hand, and Marco, feigning another yawn, slid his leg out and made 2nd division commander trip, falling flat on his freckled face. The other commanders rolled their eyes, while Haruta, the lone member of Whitebeard's Pirate whose gender was kept a mystery, shook his/her head, mystified.

"I can't believe you fell for that again." Haruta said incredulously, furrowing his/her eyebrows at Marco's hidden smirk. The trick was old in the book; so how did their stupid 2nd division commander keep tripping over his own mind?

"Shut up, Haruta." Portgas D. Ace retrieved his hat from the floor in resignation, trying to ignore the commander's veiled disdain in his/her comment. The hat felt damp in his hand, and he groaned. If the hat had to undergo another series of vigorous scrubbing and shampoo lathering, it's going to wear out eventually. This was his favorite hat!

"Marco, do me a favor, and don't do that ever again!" He barked at the 1st division commander, rubbing his hat to get rid of the excess mud.

Before he could reply, however, a deep and throaty cough interrupted their heating-up brawl.

Whitebeard, in his black scarf and signature boomerang white beard, lounged on his big armchair, a look of impatience and annoyance directed towards his division commanders. His long white cape draped over the back of the armchair, and swept the muddy floor. The wrinkles on his face grew more prominent as he opened his mouth to speak.

"We're going to Fishman Island."

His sudden proclamation startled his subordinates. A chorus of "what's" ensued, and only Marco, who had served with Whitebeard for more than a decade, and knew his comrade as well as the palm and lines of his hand, kept silent. His calculative eyes met Whitebeard's, and a brief glance of recognition was enough to clear the question in his mind. He was the first to step out of the room, and the other commanders, looking shocked and curious, hastened to follow in his footsteps.

Marco sucked in a lungful of oxygen.

"SET THE SAILS! OUR NEXT DESTINATION IS FISHMAN ISLAND! NO STOPS ALONG THE WAY! FULL STEAM AHEAD!" He bellowed, his voice belted out and echoing in the far distance of blowing winds and crackling seagulls.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Fated Encounter

"Why is the old man so rushed into reaching Fishman Island anyway?" The unexpected question, which Ace had been hiding for a long time now, slips out and reaches Marco's ears. They were both leaning over the rails, looking at the bubbles and waves the Moby Dick made as she cut through the calm and smooth ocean surface. The 1st division commander's blond hair fluttered in the breeze, and the brooding expression on his lean face stumped Ace even more. He was never much of a thinker, nor was he usually sympathetic to the crew members, whom he considered underlings and could bully them however he wished.

Then Marco's shoulders moved up slowly, in a mechanized shrug, probably meant to piss the younger man off. But before the 2nd division commander could react, he spoke up. "If the old man wants to go to Fishman Island, let him. He's getting old anyway, so let him see Neptune one more time, before he flops." He gave Ace a roguish grin for effect.

"ARE YOU SAYING HE'S GONNA DIE?!" Ace shouted, immediately gripping the collar of Marco's shirt tightly. A scene was brewing. The crew members who've passed by sensed the negative energy between them growing nastier and blacker every uprising minute like frogs that sensed the changing weather. They scooted off to report to the other division commanders, thought the idea was not of a trifle big help, since it was the two strongest commanders picking a fight. The only source they can hope for is from Whitebeard, the supreme commander; but the old man was napping, and the nurses forbade anybody who intruded into his quarters before the four hours have passed. By five minutes, this part of the deck was already empty.

"YOU MORON! WHAT KIND OF A COMMANDER ARE YOU?! TAKING ADVANTAGE OF THE OLD MAN LIKE THAT!" Marco could feel the spit on his face. Did Ace brush his teeth this morning?

He never does.

"Lord, give me a break." He disengaged the commander's unrelenting grip with ease, by bending his two thumbs and adding a small force of Haki, which led to the hot-headed young adult to wince and his hold to lax, and hear a small but definitive snapping sound. That trick always worked.

"You take everything so seriously, when we talk about the old man. I'm just saying, we do whatever the old man wants, since he does everything with a solid reason. You know that more than anybody," Marco explained in a tired sort of voice, facing the blue sea and blue sky once more. Even though the constant spray of salt water splashing his face felt refreshing, the edginess in his mind wouldn't be shaken off. In a state of frustration and chagrin, he let flames of green and blue to take over his body. His wide wings opened, sending a gust that shook the sails, and he took off, just like that.

"Where the heck are you going?!" The distant shout of his comrade was drowned out by the wind shrilling in his ears.

…

Shirahoshi was now fourteen. That was reason enough to throw a wild party, in ordinary circumstances, but no, for these eight years, they had only blew pink candles on top of a big, creamy and fattening birthday cake, divided the cake into small, bite-sized pieces for the smaller members of her family and the two ministers, and sang a half-hearted birthday chorus for their beloved princess. Since she had turned six, they'd become hesitant to answer her drowning questions of whether they'd have a party, year after year. So she just stopped. She understood, and also prevented the tears from overflowing.

She was not the type to curse or hate someone with a fiery passion. Not even Vander Decken, the reason for her birthdays being celebrated in an unhappy way.

So today, April 4th, was the day Otohime gave birth to the only princess of Fishman Island. Thinking about her mother was a wet blanket to her supposed-to-be happy day, so Shirahoshi occupied herself by pouring her feelings out to Megalo, the faithful, if not lazy, listener.

The presents she received were usually books or hair accessories. The sight of them piling up in her room was minimally exciting.

Who was she kidding? STOP SENDING PRESENTS THAT I DON'T EVEN LIKE.

She reclined on her great pink bed, and daydreamed about the outside surface, the human world, freedom, the blue sky, the sun, the trees, the flowers, snow… Megalo nudged at the wrapped boxes longingly.

The doors of Hard Shell Tower suddenly creaked. Shirahoshi sat up quickly, holding her comforter up to her bountiful chest. Megalo gave a yelp, and scampered back to the arms of his owner.

Who is it?

…

She woke up, in a room that smelled sterile and clean. Like, ultra-clean and white with the smell of new paint lingering in the air. Her eyes were bleary when they opened, but they adjusted slowly, and she found other white and empty beds surrounding her own. A single blue light hanging on the ceiling like a suspended chandelier lit up the entire space, and made her skin glow blue. Oh God. Her skin.

Her skin was SCALY. Little shiny Cycloid scales, slightly purplish in color. She brought her scaled hands to her face, and was relieved to find it, despite being lumpy with pimples across her nose, relatively familiar to the touch. She stood up gingerly onto her feet, and swayed, before collapsing back on the soft bed. She stretched her legs out, and there it was. The Scales. Something was fishy around here. No pun intended.

No time to also worry about her body conditions. Where was she? Last thing she remembered was sinking deeper into the ocean, and the water filling her lungs up, and how she couldn't breathe and she struggled but only sunk deeper and… and… Her mind was heavily burdened by something, something unnamed but hostile in nature. Was it what triggered the scales?

Now she was back to the scales again.

The door opened, and a nurse all dressed in white came in. What, she had a tail, not scales. The nurse sat on a small, lifesaver-like bubble that wrapped around her waist, and she kind of flew towards her. She had heard of mermaids before, but never once had she seen them in the flesh.

The nurse's eyes widened when she saw her patient awake. She took a clipboard out, with her coral-shaped pen poised above the unwritten sheet of paper.

"What's your name?" She asked in a cool voice, devoid of emotion. But the girl sensed unfriendliness radiating out from her very being. This was a voice that demanded, not asked, for answers.

Her name? "I go by… Nemo." The girl replied. Her throat burned just at the four words. Water. Water in a glass, lying on a desk beside her. She snatched it, and consumed the entire volume in a single gulp. The nurse looked displeased, but didn't say anything, and continued taking notes.

Another person, this time, a fishman with two legs and feet, entered the room. He was clothed in a drab, white lab coat, and a stethoscope – Nemo was surprised they had stethoscopes here – wounded around his neck. He nodded at the nurse, who nodded back, and shot Nemo a fleeting, dismissive glance. The fishman also had scales, but were thicker than hers, and more obvious. He seemed nicer than the nurse, Nemo was pleased to observe, from his kinder expression and gentle voice.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was gravelly, with a smooth quality. She felt her body relax under his gentle ministrations, and she leaned back against the down pillows, shivering at the chilliness in the room she hadn't felt up until this fishman entered the room.

"Where am I?" She asked casually, stretching her arms languorously above her head. For the first time ever, the overwhelming realization of being trapped, or chased, with a chance of being killed, had evaporated. She had an instinct that this place was safe, from all those Celestial Dragons, the World Government, and the marines. And St. Roswald. No more St. Roswald.

"You're in Fishman Island, in the Grand Line." The fishman replied, taking notes on the same clipboard the mermaid nurse was using earlier. He smiled at her. "You're fine, all your vitals are healthy and alive; but you have a few bruises. Do you feel like getting up?"

She thought for a moment.

"Well… Technically, yes and no." She tried walking again, and she succeeded in walking a few steps. The fishman doctor smiled his kind smile again.

"Wait here, I'll…" He looked around the room with a sideways glance, as if he were avoiding her gaze. "Get you some medication."

The revolving doors swung shut yet again. She was alone. Again.

Well, she was not planning to stay here. She had to go. With a hard jerk, she slipped her bag over her shoulders, and the immense weight nearly crippled her.

No. She had to go on. Her journey was far from finished. This place seemed nice, even kind of familiar. Unlike other islands on the surface, Fishman Island gave her a feeling, like she was HOME. She rarely felt at home. Even the place she grew up in was more alien than this never-before-visited sanctuary. The scales on her hand, as she looked closer, slowly disappeared, and her normal skin tone returned. She didn't whether she was happy or sad; being a half-mermaid, at least for a few hours, had been new.

Up above, the aforementioned slavery trade, bloodthirsty marines who had intentions of torturing her before killing her… all flawed humans, every single revolting aspect of the world, she'd been through. She MUST continue. From experience, she'd learned that there can be nothing worse than getting caught. She can live, and that was one thing to be grateful of. She will leave Fishman Island, for good.

TO LIVE IS TO SUFFER. That despicable motto. Trudged up by her drugged up mind in one second, when she was at various lower points in her turbulent life. All filthy crap of 'you'll-lead-a-wonderful-life'… 'believe-in-God-and-you-will-prosper' … Utter nonsense. Who said that when you bring your palms together, and come up with a big wish, you'll have it fulfilled? If that were true, oh lord mighty, the sky would be raining solid, hard, yellow gold, and the world wouldn't be full of pirates, slaves, Celestial Dragons…

But for some reason, the motto, which had made her angry before, now injected adrenaline into her bloodstream, and she cracked a smile.

She opened a window, and slipped outside.

…

Whitebeard settled deeper into his velvet seat, and waved his nurses away. He waited a few moments. As the flashing white miniskirts of the young women disappeared behind the wooden door, finally clanging shut, the door was still for a few nanoseconds.

"Pops! Pops!" The eager, albeit haggard young voice of Ace, his newest protégé, could be heard so clearly even a mile away. The old man smirked, and called out a rusty "enter" when the door was bombarded with a series of rapid knocks. He sighed in relief when the door didn't burst into flames, as it usually did, when his 2nd division commander wanted to enter his living quarters. There was a shortage of supplies in the ship, and he made a mental note to collect some, hopefully from discount, in Fishman Island. After all, King Neptune did owe him, in complicated ways.

"What is it now, upstart?" He asked amiably, when the boy came in, all red-faced and sweaty. Seeing him made the old man feel his age; all chilly, creaking joints and aching back, hips. His body wasn't as glorious as before. There were some things he could do, but he couldn't prevent old age. Sometimes the sight of his rowdy and energetic crew simply distressed him. Old. He was really getting old. Feeling old age, was not very enlightening, especially when you have the pressure of being a Yonko, with all of his prideful, conquered lands, weighting down on his broad but weakening shoulders. Especially when you don't know how you'll die, not even with Observation Haki.

"Pops! Marco just came back a few minutes ago… but he dragged along a whole colony of God-knows-what with him! Those things are so lethal, and they're black, which makes them harder to spot! They started attacking the crew, and I helped… Wait, didn't you hear the ruckus?" Ace said in one full breath, the urgency evident in his short explanation. "Those things could shriek, and they have sharp TEETH. Marco's been beat up so badly, he's too weak to even regenerate himself."

Oh man. Old age. Damn it. A loud ringing in his brain suddenly got tuned up. His breathing became labored; he wasn't hooked up to his IV today. Marco had gone off, and he'd forgot. The nurses didn't help. Stupid women. Stupid commanders. Stupid sickness.

Whitebeard gritted his teeth, and Ace quickly helped him out of his chair. Again, from old age, Whitebeard did not refuse his help.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Shirahoshi, my new friend

The sharp tang of blood in the air. Crows, cawing. While Whitebeard was frequently associated with the former, how could crows be on the sea?

The deck was in utter chaos. The crewmen's shouts rang in the windy air, and the wind sometimes carried their voices off, leading to more misunderstandings and the rise of anxiety among the big crew. The second ship was on fire. Red, orangey flames gathered at the whale's head, and already, the tip was slightly charred. Whitebeard looked at the 2nd division commander knowingly, but the latter shook his head firmly and pointed upwards, to the sky. He looked up.

Harpies. Flocks of them. Shrieking and laughing maniacally. Their faces were an unholy mess, thick with gruel and messy chunks of flesh that framed the front part of their faces in a haphazard shape. Their hair was matted and reached waist-length, and also clotted with dried up liquid that the Yonko could see upfront, resembling blood. Eyes were said to be the windows of one's soul, and that probably meant the harpies had the ugliest souls on earth. Lined with red rims and dotted with miniscule black pupils, they looked like they haven't gone to sleep for a thousand years. Black bat-like wings flapped in the air frantically, as they struggled to stay airborne, with the wind pelting towards them at high-speed. The sky seemed to darken into a ghoulish purple color, the signature color of nightmares. Their rags trailed in long strips of fabric, no doubt stolen from locals on the nearby islands.

The screams were deafening. But Whitebeard wasn't fazed. Yet. His bisento rumbled under the force of his Haki.

"Where's Marco?!" He barked at Ace, who was still staring at the burnt part of the second ship, trying to extinguish the flames from his vantage point.

"Uh… Over there!" Ace pointed due south. Giving up, he leaped over to the second ship, and orange flames licked at his body, turning his denim pants into flimsy rags. The team on the ship gave him little comfort, by throwing buckets of cold water on the burning whale head.

Whitebeard cursed. His body, as if on reflex, stiffened and he felt the beginning warning signs of the weakening of his joint muscles. No, no, this was NOT the time to become weak. He clenched his bisento hard, shuddering as the pain rolled off his back like lapping seawaves. The noise was still going; nothing was going to stop, unless he took action.

With a deep groan, he tightened his grip around his bisento, feeling a brief rush of relief when the polearm didn't break. As he concentrated, the temperature seemed to escalate by a few degrees in his body, and a thick sensation pooled at the base of his abdomen. The bisento reacted, and an almost-harmless-looking bubble formed at the head. Ace watched, and stepped backwards – although he was already far enough, before the first shock wave hit him; mostly, his fire body was immune to it, but the imbued-Haki in Pops' attack could tear his body into half. He shouted for the others to move. The Moby Dick vibrated, and the harpies got thrown off course by a sudden explosion. Whitebeard's knuckles whitened, but he took a deep breath, and remained stationary even during the earthquake-splitting-the-sea-apart-and-people-almo st-whooping-with-glee-at-their-captain's-monstrous -strength.

All the harpies screamed one last time, the abominable sound punctured with anguish and despair. They were thrown back by – as naïve as they are, when they can't even figure out the enormity of Whitebeard's power – an invisible force that split the waters into a chasm-like half. Ace could see down to the damp seafloor, with a few tangled sea weeds and red starfishes.

Marco, in his bloodied and battered body, flopped motionless on the deck, his dried-up blood staining the wood. White fogs of breath ghosted out of his mouth, and he whispered a word out, which was unheard by the pattering feet of the crewmen. The world blacked out.

"Damn…" Guns firing, people shouting, and captain cursing.

Nobody could hear him.

…

This door was surprisingly light under her fingers. It opened with barely a creak. A heavenly aroma immediately floated out, and Nemo's mouth watered with anticipation. She smelled chicken, rosemary, lemons and even a hint of strawberries. It was a long time since she'd eaten. Good food and all those luxuries she'll never receive. Her emergency ration/staple diet of stale bread and water had run out even before she arrived here, at Fishman Island.

All the hairs on the back of her neck stood up when she heard rustling, and the ground – feeling soft and strangely cushiony under her bare feet – moved a little beneath her feet. The lights were on, so she could see everything in clear focus; the pink lamp shades, the pink bed spreads, the pink blanket, which was moving. She felt constricted in this PINK PINK PINK space, where she guessed that it can only belong to a girly, spoiled and RICH female, probably a young girl. Much like those rooms of the Celestial Dragons' nieces or daughters, when the newspapers published them. SPECIAL CLOSE-UP: ST. SUZ'S RELAXING SPACE. Disgusting.

She cautiously took a step back. She'd lost her slingshot when she'd supposedly sank into the deepest bottom of the ocean. If this person were armed, she could still run out. Girl or not, they could have stored some weapons in their bedroom.

The rustling continued, and the blanket peeled away from the figure as it sat up.

'It' was indeed a 'she'. A mermaid garbed in pink all over. A giant mermaid. Her round blue eyes grew watery, and her mouth trembled. Alright, maybe she wasn't a Celestial Dragon, but she was a detestable crybaby, Nemo thought absently.

The mermaid's full red lips puckered. The skimpy bikini top she wore emphasized her large breasts, and a chain of golden pearls wrapped around her waist, an artful accessory. Her long, no-doubt-slimy, pink and red striped fish tail poked out of the slit of the blanket. Mermaid or not, she was pretty. Spoiled, rich AND pretty. That all augmented Nemo's revulsion for the upper class, who were, though pompous snobs they ARE, always managed to look good on all occasions. When they were mean, people forgave them immediately.

The blanket wriggled again. A shark suddenly appeared, its size almost on par with the mermaid's, and it mumbled to the mermaid, looking as though it was trying to calm her down.

Nemo scanned the room. He eyes latched onto a rich platter of food on the purple desk. She flicked a glance to the mermaid and the shark.

"Are you going to eat that?" She asked dully. Somehow the mermaid couldn't fit the image of an armed person or one with Devil Fruit powers, so she most probably wouldn't harm her. The shark was her pet, obviously. They were both cowards; cowards who were still shivering. She clambered up the sheets and scaled the table edge, and stood expectantly beside the roast fish. The smell was undeniably arousing; her food loins throbbed heavily.

The mermaid's eyes widened. She shook her head. Nemo dug in. Maybe she shouldn't have even asked for permission. But she didn't want to seem like an uneducated barbarian next to this prim and proper probably-a-princess-wannabe-mermaid.

And her pride also sucked away her insatiable urge to just gobble down the food. So, with as much sophistication as she could muster, Nemo carefully pried the fish scales apart, and reached for the tender, white underbelly of flesh that promised many other distractions other than its fresh, to-die-for taste. There was still a strawberry cake waiting for her just a few feet away…

Bite by bite, chew by chew… The food nearly brought tears of gratitude and sadness to her eyes. She was well aware of the mermaid's intent stare upon her, so she brushed the impromptu wave of emotion and concentrated on her dinner.

The chewing sounds she made seemed to intensify every moment she swallowed the fish. Embarrassment gnawed at her conscience; two people, whose food was selflessly – maybe – laid out for her, were training their two pairs of eyes on her. How is she going to keep eating? The fish lodged in her throat. Oh no. No. She couldn't breathe. Even as she sucked in deep breaths of air, she could only cough helplessly as the piece of meat remained firmly stuck in the opening of her trachea. The air couldn't go in. Her eyes rolled back into her head. She pounded at her chest uselessly. Oh no. She was going to die. Die in a few minutes. Die slowly and treacherously. Die, so that she can repent for her sins at Hell. This wasn't even a joke. Wait, maybe it was, when she died this way. By choking. Nemo would've laughed, had the trapped object in her throat not prevented her from doing so.

A heavy weight fell on her back. It was lifted in a quick second, but then it hit harder, nearly causing her spine to break. Her half-lidded eyes met the mermaid's determined blue orbs, and the mermaid used her long fingertip to tap – but it felt, to Nemo, like hammering – her back. The pressure on her throat lightened, load by load.

She could finally breathe again, but not without a few disheartened coughs and wheezes.

"Thank you," She spluttered, when the air was restored into her lungs. The food before her suddenly looked ominous and revolting. Her appetite had vanished. Nemo wobbled unsteadily on her feet, and nearly toppled off from the desk, when the mermaid reacted soon enough to catch the tiny girl in her wide palms. The fight had gone out of Nemo; she'd rather just lie back and rest for a few moments. To reset her heartbeat.

She was lucky this time, with somebody beside her. The consequences would've been… brutal.

The mermaid waited patiently, her hand mobile underneath Nemo's sweating body. There were more tears in her eyes. The shark sweated, but did not move to say something.

"WAAAAHHHH!" Agh. Did she have to go through this, after she's recovered from a choke?

"I, I thought you'd have died!" The mermaid whimpered, wiping the flowing tears. "I'm so sorry!"

Her eyes blinked open in shock. She was SORRY? Why?

"My… my food nearly killed you! WAAAHHH! I am so terribly sorry!"

"W-wait, I choked myself, so I'm the stupid one…" Why was she doing the apologizing now?! She's not the type to apologize! Not in the very least to a crying brat!

…This was unexplainable. She hated people like this mermaid. She hated their false sympathies, their ill-contained pity, their patent aura of superiority above many others. But why did she (Nemo) had to say sorry? There's no obvious answer to that question, it seemed. Was it out of politeness? Perhaps it's because of the mermaid's pretty, endearing face that compelled her to NOT hurt the mermaid's feelings, though since when did she care about feelings? Perhaps it's because of the mermaid's humbleness, but she was definitely humbler; she was a poor castaway, shrugged off from Society's tight-knitted groupies, for God's sake! She was neither a local resident, a Celestial Dragon – well, thank goodness for that – or even a pirate! A stray leaf that has fallen from the tree, with no hopes of ever returning to the branch.

And now she couldn't even out her breathing. The mermaid had brought her wide palm right before her face. Nemo could see her own sniveling, pitiful crying state mirrored in the pure, watery blue eyes. The near brush of death actually scared her.

She was so, so, SO grateful to be alive, even though being alive was actually quite tough.

Her fingers were starting to ache from clenching onto her forearms for too long. Her hair shrouded her face like an opaque curtain. The mermaid felt small wet droplets splashing on her sensitive palm.

No Celestial Dragons. No marines.

Just herself. And a giant mermaid.

…

Sticky eyes. She almost couldn't open them.

The bright light behind her lids grew brighter, and with a reluctant sigh, she forced her heavy lids to retract into their usual, double-lidded shelter. Hazy colors penetrated her line of vision; at first, everything was a blur. And PINK! came into the scene.

Oh. Mermaid. Pink. Food. Choke. Death.

A load of incomprehensible nouns strung together to make an unfathomable meaning. She was currently in a mermaid's pink bedroom, and she had just taken advantage of the mermaid's hospitality, thereby consuming her dinner and nearly choking to death.

Okay. She's caught up to the pace now.

The aforementioned mermaid lingered hesitantly at the edge of her immense bed, her two blush marks growing darker as Nemo sat up.

"How are you feeling?" The mermaid asked timidly. The shark was gone, for the time being.

Nemo winced, feeling her spine creaking in protest as she prepared to stand up. "Yeah. No broken bones, no headache… I think I'm good." She looked at the mermaid, and a curious question formed in her mind. Not that it was of importance, but she just wanted to know… Their crying fest together had forged a strange but understandable bond between them; though on one-sided terms. Nemo was quite reluctant to admit that.

"What's your name?" She waited to see disgust, contempt, resentment, or even cockiness, when the question was dropped. She learned from experience that people don't usually give their names out willingly. Sometimes they even dodged the question, and changed the subject.

The mermaid didn't even pause to answer. "My name is Shirahoshi, and I'm the daughter of Neptune! Nice to meet you! What's yours?" Shirahoshi smiled a smile of a thousand watts as she leaned forward against her elbows. Nemo expected the part, 'daughter-of-KING-Neptune' to sting, but this time, she felt nothing. At least not yet. Shirahoshi gave her the impression that she was SHARING that piece of information, rather than flaunting it; though the one thing that she was truly flaunting was her cleavage.

Nemo looked around the room, wanting to look at anything, ANYTHING, than Shirahoshi's fervent, admiring gaze. A dog-eared book that was flattened on the third compartment of the big shelf caught her eye. She tipped her head upwards, and when she read the name, her heart thumped in slow, pain-filled beats.

"You read that?" She pointed. The mermaid reached up and took it down, glancing at the title.

"Yes! I love the story! It's all about what happens in the surface, you know? In all of my life, I've never seen the sun, or the blue sky before… My dream is to visit a real rainforest on the surface, someday…" The lustre in her eyes dimmed considerably.

That look of despair and sadness tugged at Nemo's heartstrings. She leaped over to Shirahoshi, and pointed at the alien symbol – where the author's name should have been. The mermaid wasn't able to read that, because the symbol was in another language. Shirahoshi watched in wonder, as Nemo scribbled and translated the letter into the international language.

"I wrote this book: The Adventures of the Adventurous Ryu-chan."

…

"Sit down."

"No."

"I said, SIT DOWN."

"No way, Marco is-"

"EXACTLY! SO STOP YOUR ADHD PACING AND GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!"

The pacing stopped.

Ace stared at Whitebeard in astonishment, partly amazed at Pops' ability to actually SWEAR in front of a comrade, and also partly embarrassed at being reprimanded by his captain. He held the old man's stare fearlessly, and shuffled his feet in restlessness. Marco was undergoing an operation to rebuild so-and-so, and how was Pops expecting him to sit down and just wait?

His knees suddenly buckled. The raw weakness nearly made him fall flat on the face, had Whitebeard not grabbed his arm at the last moment.

"Sorry, boy." The old captain muttered as he arranged Ace into a seated position – albeit a mouth-opening, drool-dripping state.

He knew that if he kept his banter with Ace going, he's bound to hurt somebody in the end. Concern for his crew mates often led to disastrous results; even though he didn't mean to injure anyone. His crew was lenient and respectful towards him; but he knew that a small number of the crew, often the more cunning, ruthless squirts he newly recruited, from the cajoling of his division commanders, or simply because of their promising skills that proved to be an excellent asset to the clumsy crew… they would talk behind his back. The division commanders knew, but said nothing, to keep from upsetting the old man. Occasionally, Ace would fly into flames and start bashing people up.

The doors to the emergency room were pushed open. Whitebeard got to his feet in a hurry. A curvaceous nurse with long blond hair lifted thick eyelashes at him, and nodded to the room, giving her superior a sage look.

The taller-than-average old man stumbled into the room, but hovered at the doorway. Aspirins and toxic; the smell of death, suffused the entire atmosphere. A surgeon with a blue mask that covered almost his/her whole face glanced up, and backed away to give him space. At the corner of his eye, he saw red-stained gloves being disposed into the bin. Old age crept in again; it crumbled fear into an undulating knot in his massive chest, and beckoned him out of the operation room.

_Staying in here will only be bad for your heart…_ Whitebeard might never ever admit this. But in reality, he was scared of something. Being dead.

If he died, the results would be unimaginable. Let's just safely assume, for the time being, that Whitebeard was immortal.

The ground under him tilted to the left. He kept his balance, holding steady. Marco's lifeless-looking body, on a wheeled stretcher, rolled towards him. Whitebeard caught it before it could collide with the wooden pillar.

Marco's eyes were closed in peaceful slumber. His entire torso was bandaged, and the white strips extended down below to his nether regions. Everything about his 1st division commander was clean; even his ruffled blond hair was devoid of its usual oiliness. The lines around his eyes, his nose and mouth were relaxed; he looked years younger, much like the inexperienced upstart Whitebeard had encountered a decade ago, a scallywag with no real will to live, wasting himself on the streets, ignoring the ability to morph into a phoenix and soar above the heavens. A Devil Fruit that had dropped out of a box which was intended for a Celestial Dragon, picked up, by chance, and found its way into Marco's cavernous stomach. Total randomness, so random, that Whitebeard actually felt Fate had deliberately arranged the sequence of events to come.

So what has Fate decided now?

They were heading to Fishman Island, and almost reaching, after that tilt that signalled their descent into the ocean.

The old man foreshadowed complications up ahead, in that island.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Escape!

"I wrote this book, when I was..." She stopped. How was she going to explain that she wrote this book during the short gaps of time when the blood-hungry marines occasionally got called back by the maniacally-proven Celestial Dragons, without sounding like a wounded, loser explorer, to Shirahoshi-hime?

The mermaid looked at her, smiling for her to continue.

Ah well. Better keep the story going. "When I was on one of my many adventures," She supplied lamely.

"What adventures?" The princess's eyes twinkled. Megalo, the-shark-wearing-a-red-circus-shirt, was hovering farther away from Nemo, looking apprehensive. But Nemo knew that he daren't interrupt the princess, for obscure reasons.

"I had a bounty."

...

This happened on an unknown island on the Grand Line, just a day's journey to Sabaody Island.

"GET HER! KILL HER! BRING HER DEAD OR ALIVE TO ST. ROSWALD'S MANSION!" The marine captain yelled, his big cape almost slipping off his narrow shoulders as he ordered his troops forward. The marine was armed with sharp swords, little-blue-boy caps and some wooden stakes. There were perhaps a hundred of them in total. Nemo was flattered: did the Celestial Dragon want her that badly? Since when? She was proud to say that she wasn't bought off from an auction. Just a random encounter where she accidentally, note, ACCIDENTALLY, sent a thief that the Celestial Dragon had been chasing after, catapulting off to the sky. Wait, did she kick him? Or did she beat him? The details were unclear: it happened a long time ago, after all. She didn't defeat the thief for the sake of St. Roswald; she just happened to despise people who obstruct her way. And that thief was, kinda, blocking her.

Then the corrupted 'prince' St. Roswald was - she spat - wanted to THANK her for her 'honourable' services. Well, she didn't want to be knighted or be added into his polygyny. The latter sounded more plausible than the former, and it was just... EW.

So she had been on the run for... three months? She'd lost track of time; the marines seemed to appear at various intervals, disrupting her eating, drinking, sleeping and God, even READING schedule. Those good books she saw, advertised with glossy wording and leather-bound covers, would have to be given up, for the time being. Maybe there won't be a 'for the time being' anymore. Until St. Roswald had ceased chasing her, she would still be labelled a traitor for going against a noble's wishes.

Never mind that. So the idea of writing a book became solid after each near brush with the marines. She wanted to record her adventures, let people read them and share the stories with others, hopefully getting a laugh or two. She wanted to be the-girl-who-defied-the-Celestial-Dragons, but WAS STILL LIVING. She wanted to write down names of the village folk who betrayed her, and discuss the perils of walking through a forest filled with unimaginable beasts or carnivorous plants. She survived.

Great. The marines are distracted, for the time being. She was strolling about in a sea port, and there were four big ships tied to the post. All four of them had whale heads. Whales? How come that sounded so familiar…?

A shout behind her made her rear up in shock, so without even thinking much, she scrambled up to the plank, ending up on the deck. Up close, the whale's head seemed conspicuously bigger. It was a pirate ship, she knew. Thing was, there wasn't anyone on board. Not the usual bustling activity she had expected once she set foot upon the ship. All was quiet. The breeze ruffled the sails for a bit. Today was astoundingly SUNNY, which was a rare factor if you accounted for the Grand Line's unpredictable weather forecasts. Sun was high up in the middle of the sky, but the rays didn't even feel hot. It's much like a spring weather, and Nemo tugged her jacket tighter around her body.

And SMACK! The muse – up until now she had not known of its existence – was up and dancing wildly. She needed a pen, quick, before all these good ideas of her story start leaking out and disappear.

She didn't know how long she'd sat on the deck, in plain sight, and scribbled out word after word of meaningful prose. The marines had not arrived yet; the pirate crew was nowhere to be found, and the weather was good, for a change. Today was a most peaceful day for her. This island didn't even give her much problems, either. Quite easy to pocket pork buns and water flasks from the stalls. The people, if not greedy – who wasn't? – were reasonably… well, reasonable. And the books. Oh, don't even let her get started on the books. Wuthering Heights, The Great Gatsby, Catcher in the Rye… Man, those authors were amazing.

But time flies by when you're having fun; the sun was soon blocked out from a big mass of cloud. The sky darkened almost immediately, and her eyes were strained to their limit as she continued on with her writing. The wind picked up speed, and her ideas nearly flew out of her grasp.

When the muse ceased its ranting, she carefully stood up and tidied up her quill, ink bottle and parchments. Her eyes felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets. She would try to edit the story later, if she was free. Once her stationery were all safely hidden in the shelter of her tattered bag, she slunk into the ship's basement, hoping to find something to steal, or trade. She knew she was breaching the whale's hospitality, but nobody was here yet. She could come and go wherever and whenever she pleased.

A flight of stairs leading to the lower quarters of the ship was discovered when she unknowingly pried open a heavy door. A heavenly aroma met her, and she faltered, letting her feet and grumbling stomach guide her forward. This was the kitchen. She was sure of it.

The lower quarters were spacious. There were so many tables opened up, but unoccupied. On each of them, a loaf of newly-baked bread sat on wide dinner plates. Bread. Her mouth watered at that. She hadn't had bread for a long time. The scent sent yeast fumes into her mind, and she stumbled towards a table, her hand extended outwards. The pillow-like feel, and crusty surface, were just within her reach…

A fire-hot hand with five long fingers gripped her hand. Ouch. She couldn't move. Ow ow ow ow ow ow! It felt like flames were burning her wrist! She writhed and shook, but the fingers wouldn't let go.

"It's not dinner time yet. Don't be so hasty." A man's voice carried over the screaming protests of FIRE in her brain. She didn't care if it were dinner! She was hungry, and the food in her bag was meant for emergency.

He let go, and she fell backwards on her bottom.

The man, she saw now, was wearing an orange hat. He was half-naked. Was he some sort of a pervert? His black eyes bored into hers, and she unintentionally slid backwards, feeling uncomfortable. He then squatted down, until their eyes were level.

"Are you the new guy?" He asked right out-of-the-blue.

New guy? Before she could process that, he continued, "Haruta said he recruited someone from this island, and that that person would reach the ship in about six. It's six now." He leaned in nearer, and she quickly pushed his face away in disgust. His actions were reminiscent of St. Roswald's leering demeanor when the Celestial Dragon first encountered her. Only this guy was much younger. Approximately her age.

"Well, are you?" The guy persisted. He had an affronted look in his face.

What was she to do now? She could either break down and confess, using her feminine wiles to cry and sob and beg for food and grovel at his feet (but a nagging thought in her brain insisted that this guy had mistaken her for a MALE); or, she could use the new member's identity to admit that she was the newest recruit, and she'll just ignore him when she nabs a slice of bread. Just one slice would do. One slice to fill up the empty black hole in her stomach. Speaking of which, it was starting to growl now.

"Poor you. Never mind, I won't tell the cooks about the mysterious disappearance of the garlic bread. Help yourself; I'm sorry to have denied you your fill. Welcome to the Whitebeard Pirates!" The guy grinned, and opened his arms wide as if to emphasize the enormousness of the kitchen.

Whitebeard Pirates? She was so screwed. Their captain was the one of the Yonko, and their crew was notorious for their conquests in the New World and defiance of the World Government. Oh God. She was going to die if they found out about her. The garlic bread was still sitting there, waiting; but she couldn't bring herself to even get a bite.

"Huh? What's wrong? You look so pale." The guy came to her, and felt her forehead. She stepped away from him again. Why in the world was this pirate so touchy-feely? Are the rest of the Whitebeard Pirates like that too?

"Sheesh, you're a shy one. Go on. I won't bite." The guy now sounded annoyed. "You know… you don't look much like a guy."

The last sentence was like a bomb. Pale-stricken and deep in panic, Nemo jumped for the door. The garlic bread was still in her mouth; crispy and garlicky, but not swallowed yet. She hoped she wouldn't choke.

"Hey! Where are you going?!"

…

"And what happened?" Shirahoshi was fully immersed in the wonderful canvas of Nemo's storytelling expertise. Even after she'd finished 'The Adventures of the Adventurous Ryu-chan', she didn't have the chance to hear about other more intimate details. Her pet shark nodded vigorously in agreement; he, too, was hooked up. The author of their favorite book was actually talking about her real adventures right in front of them! This was too good to be true!

Nemo smiled cryptically. "I… forgot." She enunciated each word properly.

Shirahoshi's funny expression of horrified shock and crashing dismay mirrored Megalo's perfectly. They were like two peas in a pod, Nemo snickered discreetly. It wasn't that she purposely forgot what happened; it's only because what happened was not suited for the ears of a pure, prim and proper mermaid princess. Lots of cursing included. XXX-rated. PG 13 and up. Nah, but still. She didn't want to sully her new friend's simplistic mind.

"How? Aww… I want to hear what happens next!" Shirahoshi would have shook Nemo's shoulders if they were in same height and size; but she could only settle for pounding on her bed and making Nemo tremble and wobble until she lost her balance. Megalo, the faithful 'dog', copied his owner's movements flawlessly; only using his tail.

"Sorry, princess. I forgot. It was a huge trauma for me… Do you want to see me go crazy when I describe the gory, bloody scenes of battle and reality?" Nemo added a mad cackle for effect. This was really the first time since she's had so much fun…

Shirahoshi sighed in resignation. "Okay… I understand if you can't tell me, Nemo-sama. Stop that, Megalo." She petted the shark's fin lovingly, and the creaking of the bed springs stopped.

A sudden BOOM shook the bed again.

"What was that?!" The black-haired girl cried out, falling backwards, finally, on the bed.

The mermaid princess was unfazed by this; she was regarding the ceiling as she spoke. "I think Papa said something about the Whitebeard Pirates arriving here tonight," She leaned over to retrieve her alarm clock. Pink. Very undestandable. Even the long, short and running needles were in rosy magenta. "But they are a little earlier than usual…" Shirahoshi mused, fingering the glassed surface of her alarm clock demurely.

…

"Oh yes! We're here! We're really really really really here!" The more rambunctious portion of the crew members shouted out joyfully, wolf-whistling to the mermaids and grinning at the passing fishmen. The Whitebeard Pirates…

…Had arrived at Fishman Island. 'Tis the period to be jolly! Yay! We're here to make out with mermaids and gamble with fishmen! Tra-la-la-la-la…

"Oi." A deep, forbidding voice sliced through their imagination with the sharpness of a knife. Their 2nd division commander stood behind them, towering over them, staring them down. The crew members yelped, and cowered behind one another. They certainly didn't want their superior to lose his temper. Because losing temper = losing relaxation.

"You guys…" He had a mad gleam in his eyes now. A very disturbingly happy expression on his face made the crew members shivered once more. "LET'S GO PARTY!"

BONK! PANG! OUCH! NO! STOP! HURTS! I'LL KILL YOU, JOZU AND VISTA! YOU TOO, HARUTA!

Thus, the three inferior commanders started beating the crap out of their higher commander. Very ironic situation. Who said we get to party, you party addict?! We're here on business, not for a vacation! Grow up, Ace!

The crew members edged away from the punches and kicks, and were content to not let sharp swords, diamonds, curses and flames touch them. The 1st division commander was still on bed rest. Nobody was to talk to him besides Pops. They didn't want to upset the nurses, too.

The deck rumbled. The crew and the brawling commanders sensed the presence of their captain. They quickly stood in a respectful line, and faced their head with a black eye, a twisted ankle and a split lip. Whitebeard looked, but did not say anything. His bisento hit the deck once more, and the crew visibly trembled. Except for the commanders.

Whitebeard let a rare smile show, and he turned to the door.

"Come on out, squirt."

Marco, in his usual purple attire and completely injury-free, walked out. The crew erupted in tears of joy and quickly enveloped the 1st division commander in a group hug. He winced, but didn't push them away. The other commanders, being too 'cool' to do anything physical, simply stared.

Because Marco, at the present, wasn't looking pleased or even the least happy of being recovered from his serious bruises. On the contrary, he was… pissed.

"WHAT THE HECK ACTUALLY HAPPENED TO YOU?!" Cool, but Ace is the opposite of cool. He roughly pushed the crew members apart, and grabbed Marco by the collar, like he did last time.

"Chill, dude. I was out for some air, and out of nowhere, the harpies came attacking me like I was prey or something. That's all. And I'm fine now." Marco said calmly. He shot his leg out, and made Ace tripped, again. Haruta rolled his/her eyes, again.

"So…" Whitebeard ignored them. "I've got something to tell you squirts."

His dead-serious tone automatically made the 2nd division commander look up. He let go of Marco's scruffy collar, and stood with rapt attention, with the air of a military officer.

"What's wrong, Pops?"

Whitebeard took a deep breath. His bisento was vibrating under his grip.

"We all came back to Fishman Island, to do old Neptune a favor." He rubbed his face wearily, the feeling of moodiness growing larger as the eager looks in his crews' faces dulled. It's not that they didn't like doing favors for their comrades… They just expected this trip to be a vacation, as per the amount of entertainment Fishman Island always specially reserved for their band of pirates. Whenever they drop by and visit, letting their captain talk serious business with King Neptune, they would be allowed by their commanders to go out and 'play'. Judging from the alien, sorrowful tone in their captain's voice, they predicted that 'fun', this time, would be out of their range.

That wasn't true. 'Fun' always happens. Even on the least expected situations.

…

Nemo crept out from within the Hard-Shell Tower, keeping a watch out for merman guards. There wasn't any. That was strange; the 'pearl' of Fishman Island lives here, plays here, eats here… and the kingdom leaves her alone in this tower, without anybody to fend for her? What if she gets hurt? What if someone captures and holds her hostage? Indignation swelled like a helium balloon. If Shirahoshi got hurt, Nemo would…

She was also confused about her own feelings. Even when she was remotely on friendly terms – highly unlikely – with a noble or royal member, the need to protect that someone didn't exist. Those type of people had bodyguards of their own. They hardly seek shelter from a bedraggled cast-off like her. In fact, they'd rather dust her off their compact, square minds and continue on with their extravagant lives. Being ignored stung, but she was used to it. But she felt like she could somehow absorb a bullet for the mermaid princess. That was far-fetched and unrealistic. The only person she would get hurt for, was herself. She lived for two main reasons: 1, simply for the heck of it, or due to complete fate, when she not-so-purposely-okay-maybe-a-little showed disrespect for a noble, so she had no choice but to RUN, and 2, she wanted to achieve her dream of becoming a big time writer. That second reason sounded so much cooler and awesome. The ambition was only half-fulfilled. 'The Adventures of the Adventurous Ryu-chan' was a by-chance product, as she had left the manuscript at a quaint old bookshop's study table. The owner must have intercepted it, and published the story for his own profit. Greedy, greedy people must die.

She IS the writer of that book! Though it was no use dwelling on that now. The sense of pride she felt when Shirahoshi told her that was her favorite book was nothing in comparison to the anger of another stranger plagiarising the story, twisting it into uneven chunks that made her sick.

No, no, she had to concentrate on escaping now. While Shirahoshi was out cold.

She was such a sore loser. To drug an innocent girl before escaping. But she knew that the princess would bawl her eyes out when Nemo broke the news to her.

Whitebeard Pirates. Shoot, was that guy after her?!

It was only a first-time meeting. Besides, the guy had appeared to be a clueless person – assuming that she was a MALE, he was that dense – and he probably forgot about her.

Better safe than sorry.

A/N: I will explain Whitebeard's motive in the next chapter (and a few other subjects). Please be patient...


End file.
